


Let Me Say What I Think

by DragonintheLibrary



Series: As He Swallows or Spits [2]
Category: BlacKkKlansman (2018)
Genre: Also why are tenses so hard for me, Author really likes flannel shirts, Coming Out, Flip is bad at taking care of himself, Gay Flip, I wrote four thousand words to get to one kiss, M/M, Romantic hiking, Ron's POV, apparently I’ve never heard of brevity, bi ron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 08:45:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16092122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonintheLibrary/pseuds/DragonintheLibrary
Summary: Ron Stallworth doesn’t notice Flip Zimmerman at first.  The Colorado Springs Police Department is a sea of white men: young white men close to him in age, middle aged white men, aging white men.  Even when Ron is finally in a room with Flip Zimmerman, he doesn’t notice him.  Ron's too busy focusing on the chief and the sergeant to pay attention to the nondescript white boy lounging on a couch in the background.Ron finally notices Flip when he’s taping a microphone to his undershirt.  You can’t not notice when a tall, fairly good looking man leans into your space and starts pinning things to your under-clothes.





	Let Me Say What I Think

**Author's Note:**

> This probably won't make much sense if you haven't read the first story in the series.

Ron Stallworth doesn’t notice Flip Zimmerman at first. The Colorado Springs Police Department is a sea of white men: young white men close to him in age, middle aged white men, aging white men. Ron may or may not have met Flip while he was working in the records library, he can’t remember when he thinks back. Even when Ron is finally in a room with Flip Zimmerman, he doesn’t notice him. He’s too busy focusing on the chief and the sergeant to pay attention to the nondescript white boy lounging on a couch in the background.  

Ron finally notices Flip when he’s taping a microphone to his undershirt. You can’t not notice when a tall, fairly good looking man leans into your space and starts pinning things to your under-clothes. But really, Flip is just a nondescript white boy, with the flannel and the jeans, thinking he’s a cowboy with those boots and dangerously close to actually being a cowboy with the gun holsters. Ron forgets all about him when he meets Patrice, a strong, beautiful, extraordinary (seriously, she’s the president of the black student union. If that’s not extraordinary Ron doesn’t know what is) Black woman.

Ron does well on his first op, gets the promotion he wanted, has a desk (right behind Flip’s desk), and is encouraged to wear whatever he wants to work. Then Ron calls the KKK on a lark and manages to turn it into an investigation, an investigation he is in charge of with two officers more senior than he is assigned to help him.

Ron is still seeing Patrice, and she’s still amazing, but they just don’t click the way he was hoping. Meanwhile Ron is working closely with Flip, and he starts to notice things, without even wanting to notice them. Ron notices the way Flip’s shoulders fill out his flannel button downs. Flip’s desk is right in front of Ron’s, so it’s hard not to watch him work, hard not to notice the three pens he always has ready, hard not to notice that Flip smokes quite a bit, but his ashtray is always clean. Flip is brave and a good actor and an excellent shot. They go undercover at a KKK meeting and Felix takes Flip down to the basement and wants to strap him to a lie detector and asks him to pull out his dick, too. Ron panics and throws a brick through the window and then panics even more when the most racist men in Colorado Springs come pouring out of the house after him with their guns and start shooting at him. He doesn’t realize it until later, when he reads the report, but Flip took Felix’s gun and shot towards the road behind the car, to make certain that Ron was safe. And when Flip and Ron have some sort of fight, what Ron notices most is how quiet Flip is, even when he’s angry and scared. Flip raises his voice quietly and storms out quietly to smoke.

And then one night after a successful op with new information uncovered, Flip… freaks out. He says that he’s going to be made because he goes to the one of the bars that the KKK is targeting, one of the gay bars that they want to blow up. Something in Ron’s vision clicks into place and Flip comes into sharp focus. Flip, with his butch pseudo-cowboy get-up and the Star of David necklace that he puts in his desk drawer before they go undercover has also been keeping quiet his affinity for one of Colorado Springs’ gay bars. Something pulls or squishes inside of Ron’s chest. Flip’s hands are shaking as he smokes his cigarette, and Ron just wants to wrap him up in a blanket and make him drink a glass of water. Things are fizzling out with Patrice (they still see each other every once in a while, but a relationship no longer seems possible) and Ron can’t think of a reason why he shouldn’t scoop Flip up and take care of him. Ron’s normally unflappable partner is trembling and swearing as he smokes his cigarette, and Ron can’t just watch that and do nothing, so he takes Flip home with him for dinner and a night on the couch.

Ron cooks dinner, and Flip offers to help. Ron glances at Flip; his cute partner, who (it turns out) frequents a gay bar in town. His cute partner who is now offering to help with dinner. _Now is not the time_ , Ron tells himself sternly. _He is freaked out at the prospect of being outed to armed, anti-Semitic homophobes. Now is not the time to make a move._ Ron clears his throat, “You could set the table.” Flip nods, and Ron indicates where the napkins and the silverware are. Ron thinks Flip might be dehydrated, so he makes certain that water is included with their meal. (Ron also thinks it’s possible that Flip isn’t eating enough vegetables. Or maybe he’s not sleeping enough? Too much coffee and beer and cigarettes and not enough water and spinach and sleep. Ron can’t fix Flip’s personal health habits, but he can provide a healthy environment for one night, the one night when Flip is more stressed out than usual.)

They finish eating (Flip practically inhales his food) and Ron tries to set a good example by going to bed. But Flip is not done freaking out for the evening, and he wants Ron to have a reaction to his coming out, the coming out that didn’t really happen. Ron tries to be gentle and reassuring with him, and then he realizes that there is one response he should really be giving Flip right now, and he stutters because not many people know this and he hasn’t told anyone in a while. “I’m bisexual,” Ron says.

Flip looks at him and Ron can’t parse his expression. Flip is surprised, and… what? There is a certain intrigued expression on his face and Ron doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what this means. But Ron does know that it’s late, so he successfully goes to bed this time. It’s hard to fall asleep knowing his partner is in the next room. _It’ll keep for the morning_ , Ron tells himself, and does a deep breathing exercise to make himself relax.

~~~

In the morning Ron makes breakfast, which Flip tries to skip. _Seriously_? Ron thinks to himself, because it would be rude to say it out loud. _If you just took some basic care of yourself, just eating food and drinking water and sleeping at night it would be easier to deal with the stressful parts of your life._

Ron convinces Flip to actually eat the breakfast he is so nicely cooking for the both of them, and afterwards Flip starts doing the dishes without comment. And okay, so maybe he can’t do basic things like take care of himself but he’s extremely courteous and damn if it’s not nice to watch those broad shoulders in the that ever-present plaid flannel doing the dishes in Ron’s small kitchen. Ron catches himself staring, gives himself a firm shake and goes into the bedroom to get dressed for work.

Ron runs through potential conversations in his head, but no matter which way he turns it around he can’t find the right thing to say. How does one strike the right balance between _no, really, it’s okay if you’re gay_ and _I won’t let the those homophobic dirt bags hurt you or anyone else_ and _this is really off-topic right now but I think you’re cute, do you want to get a drink after work?_ And if he should even try to say the last one.

It turns out Ron barely makes it back into the living area of the apartment before Flip rabbits out the door, leaving nothing but a dish drainer full of clean plates and forks.

“Hey,” Ron calls after him. Flip stops and looks over his shoulder. Their eyes meet and Ron feels that push-pull-squish feeling in his chest again. Ron blurts out some half-coherent version of what he was planning to say, and Flip just keeps looking at him with his big, expressive eyes.

“Okay,” Flip says, and walks out the door of Ron’s apartment.

 _Damn_ , Ron thinks. _You work with the guy and you can’t even get one sentence out right? Damn._

~~~

Ron walks outside his building, and looks around for his car for three seconds before remembering that he drove Flip’s truck last night, and his car is in the lot. It’s only a ten-minute drive from, here, which means it will take at least half an hour to walk there. Ron sighs, and sets off in the direction of his car.

When Ron finally gets to the station Flip is already there, wearing a fresh flannel and typing at his desk.   Flip eyes flick towards the door, and he quietly nods hello, just like he has every other morning since Ron was assigned to narcotics.  But this morning Ron’s breath catches a little in his chest. _Settle down,_ Ron tells himself. _You’re at work, so work._

Ron sits down at his desk, and firmly directs his line of sight away from Flip’s shoulders and down to the report of last night’s op. Ron spends what’s left of the morning (he really was astonishingly late to work) typing up the report. After lunch Jimmy, Ron, and Flip all have a meeting in the sergeant’s office. They discuss how various ways to make sure the local KKK chapter doesn’t get their hands on any explosive materials, and other ways to protect the local gay bars from violence.

“We should increase police presence near these bars,” Sergeant Trapp says.

Even sitting a full foot away, Ron can feel Flip tense up.

“Respectfully, Sergeant,” Ron says. “Cop cars outside the gay bar are likely to make the clientele nervous. We’ve got to remember that they are a vulnerable population who historically have been targeted by cops.” Ron doesn’t mention that gay folks are also _currently_ being targeted by some cops.

“What do you suggest?” Sergeant Trapp asks.

“Increased police presence in the neighborhood, generally,” Ron suggests.

“Maybe even we have a couple of the guys go meet the owners of the bar,” Jimmy adds. “Ask them to call us if anything suspicious or threatening happens.”

“Alright,” Sergeant Trapp agrees. “I’ll make it happen. But I need you to get me more intel about their plans.”

“Yes Sir,” Ron says.

They all go back to their desks, and Ron starts making phone calls, trying to use Ivanhoe’s off-hand comment as a wedge to pry open some of the more closed-mouthed members of the group. It’s slow going, but this is the work Ron loves; using his brain to out-wit racist skinheads. Flip is twitchier than usual this afternoon, and it’s downright distracting. He’s smoking more than usual, and he keeps rotating his chair back and forth and getting up to get something from the filing cabinet.

Most of the other officers in narcotics leave at five, since they got in at a decent hour. Ron waits for everyone else to go, his stomach fluttering with nerves.

“Flip,” Ron says.

Flip turns in his chair, and raises his eyebrows.

“Would you like to get a beer?” Ron asks. They both have the day off tomorrow. The worst that can happen is Flip’s not into him and says no. Ron’s been shot down before, he’ll live.

“Well,” Flip says. “I would say yes, but I can’t go to my usual bar right now.”

“What else do you do to relax?” Ron asks.

“I hike,” Flip says.

Of course he does. Because of course Ron has a crush on a basic Colorado white boy who likes beer and being in the mountains.

“Do you want to do that tomorrow?” Ron asks.

“With you?” Flip says evenly. He is so hard to read sometimes.

“Why not?” Ron replies. Because he doesn’t need to go walking up a big hill on his day off, that’s why not.

“Okay,” Flip says. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning. Wear boots, if you have them.”

“I have boots,” Ron says. Black leather boots. For dancing. But he has no one but himself to blame for being in this predicament; going on a hike was all Ron’s idea.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Ron says.

“See ya,” Flip turns back around to his desk.

~~~

Ron wakes with a start. Someone is pounding on his door. Is Felix the redneck Nazi back? It’s just too early for this shit. Ron drags himself upright and to the front door of his apartment. This time he looks through the peephole before opening the door. Ron sees a familiar head of dark hair and red plaid shirt. Flip.

Ron opens the door. “What time is it?” he asks blearily.

“Morning time,” Flip responds. “Hiking, remember?”

“Yes,” Ron says. “What time is it?”

“Nine o’clock. I brought coffee,” Flip holds up a paper cup.

Ron sighs, takes the coffee, and goes back into his apartment leaving the door open behind him. Since Flip had declined to go out with him last night, Ron had met up with Patrice. (“You’re an amazing person. You’re smart and you’re driven and you’re principled. But I’m just not getting a romantic connection, you know? I still want to chill. But I want to be clear.” Patrice gave him the iciest look: “We were never dating.” “Oh, okay,” Ron said. “Never mind. Want to dance?”) He’d been out late.

Ron gulps blindly at the warm paper cup of coffee in his hand. Huh. One cream, no sugar. Flip must have been paying more attention than Ron had realized, because that’s exactly how Ron takes his coffee.

Ron gets dressed, and when he comes back into the living room Flip is sitting on his couch, reading the newspaper.

“I’m ready,” Ron says.

Flip puts down the paper. His gaze flickers up and down Ron’s body. _Checking me out?_ Ron wonders. _Or making sure my clothes are appropriate for hiking?_

Flip doesn’t make a comment either way, just clears his throat and stands up. Ron follows Flip to his truck, and climbs into the passenger side.

“Here,” Flip hands him a paper bag.

The bag contains breakfast sandwiches of egg and sausage and a smooshed rectangle of potato that has been deep-fried. Everything tastes amazing in that I-did-not-sleep-enough-last-night-but-I’m-not-awake-enough-to-do-the-math-and-figure-out-how-many-hours-I-still-want-to-sleep kind of way.

Flip drives into the mountains. He doesn’t say anything, other than to ask Ron to hand him food from the paper bag. Ron watches the landscape change around the vehicle, very aware of how close he’s sitting to his partner.

Flip pulls into an empty parking lot on the side of the road. The parking lot isn’t near anything and doesn’t seem to have any reason to exist. Flip produces a worn canvas backpack from behind his seat and gets out of the truck. Ron follows him, stopping for a moment to stretch and take a deep breath. The air feels cool on his face. Ron is still tired, but after coffee and food and cool air it feels like a manageable level of tired rather than an apocalyptical level of tired. Ron glances towards Flip. Their eyes meet, sending a zap of electricity through Ron’s stomach. _Was he watching me?_ Ron wonders.

Flip turns and walks towards the woods at the edge of the parking lot. His usual leather gun holster is not present, replaced by the small canvas backpack; it looks ridiculously tiny on Flip’s lanky frame, like a school child’s bag. Ron follows him past the wooden post marking the trailhead and onto the path between the trees. They walk in silence for a while. When Ron breathes in the air smells of pine trees and rocks. The path climbs up and down. The trees and everything are beautiful, but mostly Ron has to look at his feet to keep from tripping on the uneven surface.

“So what do you like about this?” Ron asks.

Flip moves over to the side of the path so Ron can walk beside him. “My mom used to take me hiking when I was a kid,” Flip takes a breath. “I like being away from everyone and everything that remind me of work. Otherwise what’s the point of living in Colorado Springs, home of murderous, racist Nazis? And I like seeing the birds.”

“Flip Zimmerman, bird watcher,” Ron says, but what he’s thinking is _I’m one of the people who probably reminds you of work. Was it a bad idea to invite myself on this hike?_ “I’m sorry to intrude on your private time.”

“What?” Flip asks.

“I mean,” Ron says. “You just said this is how you get away from work. Unwind.”

“Oh,” Flip said. “Well, that’s different.”

“Oh?” Ron asks.

“Yeah,” Flip says. “This trip was your idea.”

“Hmm,” Ron says. “I suppose it was.”

They walk quietly for a while longer. They come to an overlook and stop. It’s strange to see the mountains from this perspective, from inside the mountains. The mountains are usually a backdrop to Ron’s existence in the city, nothing more than a flat cardboard silhouette. But now Ron is partway up the side of a mountain range, experiencing the depth and dimension of the mountain, confronted with how very not flat it is. The mountain doesn’t just go straight up in a flat plane; the texture of the side of the mountain is just as dramatic as the height. The city seems very far away and the concerns of home seem small.

“This operation,” Flip says. Ron glances over at him. Flip is looking out towards the desert. “Well, not just the op,” Flip says. “Really, you and the op. I’ve been thinking… I’ve been thinking more than I have in a while. About myself. About being Jewish, and about…well, about being gay. I just wanted to tell you—” Flip suddenly turns his head towards Ron and they make eye contact. Flip takes a breath. “I wanted to tell you that I’m gay. I don’t just go to a gay bar. I am gay.”

Ron takes a deep breath. He doesn’t really know what to say, how exactly to express the right combination of support and solidarity and thank-you-for-trusting-me. _That’s good, congratulations, I’m proud of you, you are good and this is all going to be fine._ “Okay,” Ron says, maintaining eye contact, trying to communicate everything with his gaze that he can’t find the right words for you.

Flip nods, taking another breath.

“Shall we?” Ron asks, gesturing towards the trail.

“Yeah,” Flip nods again.

They continue along the trail. Ron searches for another topic of conversation, something to lighten the mood, something that will hopefully make Ron feel safe and at home.

“Do you know what kind of tree that is?” Ron asks, pointing to one of the non-pine trees.

“Aspen,” Flip replies.

It turns out that Flip know a lot about the trees and the birds and even the rocks that they’re walking through.

“My mom used to work as a park ranger, before I was born,” Flip says. “I think she missed it, so she used me as park-visitor-of-one. She was disappointed when I enrolled at to the police academy instead of going to college,” Flip says. And just like that they’re talking about their families. Flip is an only child, but he has a lot of cousins. He was close to his grandmother before she died, and his parents live in Denver. Ron tells Flip about his three sisters (two older and one younger), and moving to Colorado as a young child when his father got work here, leaving the rest of the extended family in Ohio.

They stop for a rest, sitting on rocks that are almost comfortable. Flip opens up his backpack and out come two water bottles, a packet of beef jerky, and green apples. It’s nice, because even though Ron suggested this, asking if Flip would do something with him, Flip took initiative. Flip showed up at Ron’s apartment, decided where they were going, and brought food for both of them. It makes Ron feel hopeful.

They’re sitting quietly, Ron is still chewing on a piece of beef jerky for what feels like the 10th minute, when Flip blurts out “Is this a date?”

Ron inhales in surprise and coughs, choking on the food in his mouth.

“Sorry!” Flip says.

Ron holds up a hand _stop_ , but can’t say anything because he’s still coughing. Flip hands Ron a water bottle. Ron drinks, and then clears his throat.

“Are you okay?” Flip asks.

“Yeah,” Ron says. “I’m fine.

“I’m sorry,” Flip says. “I shouldn’t have…I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Ron says. “And, um. It’s a date if you want it to be a date. Or not, if you don’t want it to be.”

“Oh,” Flip says, staring at Ron. “I…want it to be a date.”

“Okay,” Ron says. “Me too.”

Ron can’t stop himself from grinning like an idiot. Flip glances down at the ground, but Ron can see him smiling. Ron gets up and moves over to sit next to Flip on a rock that’s really not big enough for the two of them.

“Hey,” Ron says, bumping his shoulder into Flip’s.

“Yeah?” Flip asks.

“Do you want to make out?”

Flip glances around, checking for other hikers despite the fact that they’ve been out here for a couple of hours and not seen anyone else.

Ron’s stomach twists. “We don’t have to,” he says.

Flip looks back at Ron, making eye contact with such force it’s almost physical. “No, I want to,” Flip says. “I just…”

“I know,” Ron says. “It’s smart to be careful.”

Flip grabs the water bottles and stuffs them in his backpack. “Come with me,” says. Flip snatches up the apple cores and beef jerky bag, throwing everything into his bag. Flip reaches out for Ron’s hands, and pulls Ron to his feet. Flip’s hands feel rough and strong. A spark of electricity jumps around Ron’s insides. Flip takes a quick step away, pulling Ron after him. Ron follows, and Flip squeezes his hand, but doesn’t let go. Flip leads him through the group of rocks they were sitting on to a vertical rock face.

“Now what?” Ron asks.

“Up there,” Flip nods towards the rock.

“I can’t climb that!” Ron says.

“It’s not that hard,” Flip says. “Here, I’ll show you.”

Flip walks around to the side of the rocky wall and Ron sees that there are quite a few ledges and crannies, like the narrowest set of stairs that would never be in even the ricketiest of apartment buildings. Flip starts climbing up on all fours. “You can do it,” he says over his shoulder.

Ron takes a deep breath and follows. It’s really not so hard. After only a few minutes they’ve made it to a fairly level crevice that runs along between two high bits of rock. They stop and lean their backs against the rock wall. The rock feels rough and hard against Ron’s back but all he can focus on is the sensation of Flip’s arm brushing against his. Ron takes Flip’s hand in his, stroking his thumb over Flip’s palm. Flip inhales sharply. Ron turns towards him, pinning him against the wall with his spare hand. Ron rests his cheek against the side of Flip’s face and breathes in. The air is clean and clear; it smells of rock and sweat. Ron can feel Flip’s chest rise and fall with his breath.

When Flip speaks Ron can feel the vibrations of Flip’s voice in his chest. “Can I kiss you?” Flip asks.

Ron nods, his beard rasping against Flip’s goatee. Flip turns his head and kisses Ron’s cheek. Ron’s breath stutters in his chest. Ron turns his face towards Flip and reaches out. Their lips meet. Flip kisses solemnly, quietly, earnestly. His lips are soft. They kiss and they kiss, until Flip pulls back, gasping. Ron grins at him.

“Damn,” Flip says.

“Damn straight,” Ron agrees.

“We’ve hiked long enough,” Flip says. “Come home with me?”

“Yes,” Ron replies. “Of course.”

**Author's Note:**

> I was determined to squeeze all the titles required for this series out of the lyrical content of Quiet Company's "Preaching to the Choir Invisible, Part I" and I did it. Maybe next time I'll come up with proper titles.
> 
> I'm not Black and I've never lived in Colorado. Apologies for anything I got wrong.


End file.
